CHAPTER XXXII
The next event of importance was a grand dinner party given by Mrs. Lepell, to which she invited Verona alone. Mrs. Chandos was loudly indignant because Dominga had been overlooked, for she had learnt all particulars of the festivity from her ayah, who heard it from the Lepell's khansamah. There were to be no less than twenty-four guests. These included Colonel and Mrs. Palgrave, Miss Richards, Mr. Young, the Deputy-Inspector-General of Police, Mr. Salwey, a Sir Rupert and Lady Maxwell, who were staying at the Dak bungalow, and various other notabilities; altogether it was to be an unusually smart affair. Poor Verona, who was not particularly anxious to be present, was compelled to listen patiently whilst her mother harped from morning till night on Mrs. Lepell's many delinquencies and Dominga's grievances.
The evening arrived, and Verona, with Pussy's volunteered assistance, began to make her toilette. She arranged her hair carefully, and put on a dress, relic of happier times, a white crêpe de chine; it had come from the atelier of Laferrière, and was a simple, but exquisite gown. Pussy was loud in her expressions of admiration.
"Oh—it is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! Verona. If you will sit down before the glass, I will clasp your pearls round your neck, and then you are ready. Now, what do you think mother did to-day?"
Verona shook her head in hopeless ignorance. Her mother did so many things—she resembled a little black ant, and was never idle.
"You know she is awfully mad that Dominga was not invited, especially as Mr. Young is going, so she wrote a note over to Mrs. Lepell to ask her if she could possibly squeeze in Dominga anywhere? The answer came back in two minutes to say that Mrs. Lepell was extremely sorry, but the number of her guests was quite complete."
Verona, listening to this little tale, blushed for her mother to the roots of her hair. At this moment the door of the verandah was burst open, and Mrs. Chandos herself appeared; she looked both angry and excited.
"My! whatt ages you have been," she declared, as she surveyed Verona's toilette with glittering, malevolent eyes.
"I was helping Nicky with his sums, and I forgot the time. I am afraid I am a little late."
"I am afraid you will be very late," cried Mrs. Chandos, with a queer, hysterical laugh, and she suddenly swept a pail of water from behind her dress, and deluged her unfortunate daughter from head to foot. At first the shock was such that Verona could do nothing but gasp, and gasp; then, to the amazement of the spectators, she burst out laughing.
What an object she was! the water streaming down her hair and nose, and a pool in her lap, her gown a mere soaked rag. Verona's laugh was an inspiration! If for days she had been preparing an effective retort to her mother's malicious action, she could not have hit the mark more cleverly. Mrs. Chandos stood disarmed, astounded, humiliated.
"I am afraid I shall now be very late indeed," said Verona as she rose, dripping from head to foot, and looked at her parent with extraordinary composure, "so late that it will not be worth my while to go at all. If you will all kindly retire, I should like to change my wet clothes."
Without a single word Mrs. Chandos slunk out, bucket in hand, but Pussy lingered to profess her sympathy and dismay.
"Now, what can you say? Oh, you must send an excuse?" she enquired, with an awestruck face.
"You can say I have had a severe wetting," rejoined Verona. In her heart of hearts she was not sorry to be compelled to remain at home. These local gatherings had nothing to offer her but pain and humiliation.
"A severe wetting!" cried Pussy, "they will not believe it. There has been no rain for weeks!"
"I cannot help that," retorted her sister, "but if you want to make it appear plausible, you may add that I have gone to bed."
Pussy sat down and scrawled off the following note:
"Dear Mrs. Lepell,—
"Please excuse Verona. She has had a bad wetting, and is gone to bed.
"Believe me,
"Yours sincerely,
"Bellamina Chandos."
The true state of the case was not long in finding its way to Mrs. Lepell's ears. She could not help laughing at the incident as she related it to her nephew, but she felt more sorry than ever for Verona Chandos.
It was eleven o'clock at night. The bungalow was silent, the lights were extinguished everywhere except in the office, and here we behold Mrs. Chandos and Abdul Buk face to face across a table, exceedingly grave and busy. In front of each was a large ledger, and as Mrs. Chandos read out figures and totals Abdul Buk said "Jehan, jehan," and ticked off the duplicate in pencil; occasionally Mrs. Chandos would point out discrepancies and losses, and a certain amount of argument and wrangling would ensue.
"There is that widow in the Gorra bazaar; she owes me a hundred rupees."
"With interest," amended Abdul.
"She has only had twenty-five in her hand."
(By which it will be seen that Mrs. Chandos, like Ralph Nickleby, expected to get two pence for every half-penny.)
"She worked very hard, and borrowed the money to pay for her husband's funeral."
"It was my money, though, and I will have it back, and the interest. You know what to do," said this daughter of the horse-leech. "Then there is that girl who drowned herself in the well; I shall never get an anna from her now, and she is down in my books for two hundred rupees."
"You lost nothing by her—she had paid the principal over and over."
"My losses have been heavy this last six months. Again, there is that man who took poison."
"What you call losses are trade risks, and but nothing when you take into consideration your enormous gains. No one does such business as Saloo"—he gave a sort of grunting laugh. "I paid a big sum into the Bank of Bengal in the name of your mother, as usual. Oh—ho! What a good thing it is that she leaves business to you, and thinks she has only a few hundred rupees. Bee Bee Chandos, you are a very rich woman." Here he pulled up a large bag, made of knotted twine, and poured on the table a quantity of rupees and notes. These his companion proceeded to count with eager, greedy fingers (and a celerity that was positively astonishing and indicated long habit), arranging them in piles of fifty.
"Four thousand, seven hundred," she said at last. "I don't know what you call rich; I have been twenty years in the business; I have worked hard, and I pay you and your agents well."
"It is a difficult, risky business," protested Abdul Buk. "I go in fear of my life of that Salwey; if I am found out, it is ruin to me; my character will be gone. If it was supposed that I was the agent of the greatly-feared Saloo, surely the very beggars would spit upon me—I would not have a friend in the world."
"Money is a good friend," said Mrs. Chandos sententiously.
"Ay," assented Abdul Buk, "and you must have laks by now."
He paused and looked at her reflectively; then he said:
"Why do you not spend it instead of hoarding? Why not enjoy the money before"—he paused, then he added—"you are found out."
"Cha-a-h! I will never be found out!" she answered shrilly. "I love handling money; it is in my blood. I get it from Lopez, my father. He left me no fortune, with all his once great riches."
"Of a truth his riches did him no good; he died a ruined man."
"But he left me a legacy," rejoined Mrs. Chandos; "his books, his accounts, the names of his clients and his methods. I found them all in an old box, when my mother came to live with me. They have been of value."
"Take my advice and wind up now," urged Abdul Buk. "I feel a presentiment of evil. Lo! I see a little cloud, like a man's hand, as it says in your book which I have read. I fear Salwey—some day he will discover all; he is working, working, working. You will have your veil torn off, and be known through the province as the accursed Saloo, whilst I may be cast into prison. Anyway, I lose my honour."
"Abdul Buk, you are a coward; you ought to be the old woman, I, the man."
"So you say," he exclaimed with sullen scorn.
"What of Hirzat Sing?"
"He wails and weeps and prays to be suffered to die in his ancestral home."
"He is a tiresome old fool and can no longer till the ground to good profit. All I made last year on that acre and a half of cane was one hundred rupees—he must go."
"It will kill him!"
"Even so!" was the callous reply; "it were time he were dead! And now what of the money belonging to my daughter, Verona? Have you put it out to a good charge?"
"Yes; four thousand rupees," he replied, "to build an oil mill; twenty-five per cent. They cannot pay, so the interest will be compound."
"And the jewels, Abdul. Are there no tidings?"
"No, though Salwey seeks them everywhere."
"True; he wanted to search here, but I said no. He might have found other matters. Yet it is past belief that there is no trace of them. What sayest thou, Abdul?"
Abdul nodded his head three times, but made no other reply.
"I put them in the bag myself. It was not locked, but I locked the press, and the door of the dufta, and some one came in and broke the press at the back and took the necklace, the watch, a gold bangle and rings. Think of it!"
"Truly this district has an evil name for thieves and budmashes. The robber has carried the jewels to the city, and they are doubtless ere now broken up and sent to Delhi."
"You think, Abdul, there is no chance of ever getting them back or of finding the things?" enquired his employer as she settled her elbows on the table and stared at him fixedly.
"None; truly 'tis but a loss of time!"
"How lucky that I kept out the beautiful diamond and emerald pendant. It is worth all the rest. Such stones!"
Abdul sat more erect, and his eyes now assumed a look of keen interest, hitherto somewhat lacking in their expression, as he ejaculated a sonorous "Ah-h!"
"I admired the ornament so much, Verona made me take it. I have no jewels, and I have hidden it safely."
"Hidden it—and where?" he asked.
As he put the question Abdul's great turbaned head lay half resting on his shoulder; his countenance was childlike and bland.
"Nay, nay," she answered with a laugh, "I cannot tell you that; the very walls have ears."
"It is not then in the dufta?"
"Am I a fool?" she demanded, with pardonable indignation.
"Nay; thou art a marvel of wisdom."
"I think I shall sell the jewel some day; it will add to my daughters' fortunes."
"They will have great fortunes, your daughters."
"Maybe."
"All you pay me for my risks and labour is but a few hundred rupees."
"If your commission is low—it is your own fault. The more you bring me, the more you receive."
"I receive but little. I am a poor man. I have a large family to maintain; they all look to me."
"They will be looking for you now!" said Mrs. Chandos briskly.
"Truly thou art a hard woman—hard as a rock."
As she spoke Abdul rose and closed the ledger before him with a bang. Mrs. Chandos also rose, and with her foot turned back a rug in the middle of the room; under this was revealed a trap door, which she proceeded to unlock, whilst Abdul Buk lifted the heavy lid. Below was a small space, wherein were boxes and account books.
"Surely this is a great convenience," she said. "Here, in the old days of the factory, they too kept money and books."
The bag of knotted twine and the big account book were laid within, the trap door was closed, the rug replaced.
"I may not come here again for some time," said Abdul Buk. "Salwey spends half a week at Manora; I cannot understand what brings him here, unless he what you call 'smells a rat.'"
"Bah!" exclaimed Mrs. Chandos, with great scorn.
"Here I am ill at ease. Now, in my quarters in the cantonment bazaar, I feel all right. There I can do business, and take measures."
"Truly, yes," assented Mrs. Chandos, "'every dog is a lion in his own lane.' Your peons, and the little deaf writer, how fare they?"
"They are at your service. Behold! they are well chosen. They know neither pity nor fear. Thou art a woman with a strong mind."
"I am," she answered complacently, "and it is the mind that maketh the body rich! Meet me in two weeks' time, by chance, at the railway station—I will name the hour and day—and there we will confer about the loans on the wheat crop."
Mrs. Chandos, as she spoke, turned down the lamp, and went out, locking the door of the office, while Abdul Buk stole round the corner of the bungalow and along the road to where his phaeton was waiting, and drove away.